


Forget, Survive, Repeat

by d8rkmessngr



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, M/M, Post-Episode: s01e04 Cyberwoman, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:39:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2710895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d8rkmessngr/pseuds/d8rkmessngr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He came to Torchwood, to Jack, for Lisa. But now she's gone and Ianto isn't sure what there is he has left. Post "Cyberwoman".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget, Survive, Repeat

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Notes from 2010:** Originally, this was meant to be for the help_haiti fic auction. At a 1000 words. –pauses- I obviously went a tad over. LOL. Many thanks to space_monkey52 for this intriguing prompt and her donation!
> 
>  **Prompt:** As for the prompt, I like _post Cyberwoman Janto_ fics. I'd like to read one that deals only with Ianto's suspension and how he gets through it. 
> 
> **Spoilers:** "Cyberwoman", minor references to "Fragment", "Small Worlds", "Adrift", and the Torchwood yearbook.
> 
>  **Warning:** Dark, contemplating sad things because Lisa's gone but it ends with hope.

**Day Zero**

Every morning at 0400 on the dot, Ianto needed to get up, shower and make a hasty breakfast while he listened to the morning news, in case of anything Torchwood-worthy was mentioned. As his bread browned to toast, he checked the syringes, brought in his mail and left his flat by 0420. The drive to Westham's took ten minutes.

Fifteen minutes to fetch something new and interesting to read to her; fifteen minutes to get to the stand all the way down at Westham's Market (he didn't dare use the newspaper stand on the _Plass_ ) and get back to the _Roald Dahl Plass_ by way of the A470 without being picked up on the CCTV.

Ianto needed to arrive by 0505 with an allowance of five minutes for any traffic his GPS might fail to forewarn him of. Parking could only take five minutes to give him enough time to pick up muffins and scones for breakfast for the others: Jack liked the lemon scone, Gwen the apricot muffin, Tosh the orange-ginger tart and Owen…well, like their pterodactyl, Harper liked anything so long as he was fed and it was grossly unhealthy. 

The pamphlets in the Tourist center need to be sorted by 0520. Ten minutes. 

After that, the vaults needed to be patrolled, bolts double-checked and assured that there were no more lost or orphaned creatures of the Rift wandering the leaking, rusty corridors. The spiked shell purple tortoise was a near thing. Forty minutes. 

Snuff his torch, keep a hand on his back holster and follow the cool and gritty east wall until he made the turn into the chained and triple bolted brown metal doors. Open door, open to Lisa. Check her respiration, her blood pressure and her IVs. Talk to her and swallow back the knot in his throat when this time she was too weak to even whisper back a reply. 

Thirty minutes with a possible ten minute reserve if one of the machines failed…again. 

Be ready by 0700.

Smile, serve the coffee, and try not to sweat each time someone noticed the power irregularities. Check on the ventilators at 1100 while on the way to log the next batch of filing. If there was time to sneak it in have a quick one-sided conversation. Her IVs needed to be swapped out at 1200 and again at 1400 and 1900. Failure to do so on schedule meant possible blood clots, heart arrhythmia, seizure, hypoxia, and brain cell deterioration. (The medical textbooks and library references had been quite specific. Some had even had charts illustrating decay rates. One had contained pictures.) One final check at 2300 hours, order supplies, scrub down autopsy, tidy the conference room, toss Gwen's left over coffee cups, Owen's lunch remains, refresh water in the bud vase on Tosh's desk, pick up claim check for Jack's dry cleaning, gas up and arrange service for the SUV, go home, lay out clothes for the next morning, eat, set alarm for 0400, sleep. If he was fortunate, he wouldn't dream about fire and screaming and the taste of pulverized concrete collecting in his mouth. If he was not fortunate, get up, put his trainers on, go for a midnight run, run until he couldn't breathe, then go back to bed and wait for morning.

Wake up.

Repeat.

 

**Day One**

Morning came and the yellow light that slit across the air and over his eyes through the blinds wasn't that of dawn but the streetlight below. They were ineffective blinds but Lisa had bought them when they had moved in together. Ianto didn't point out the reason they were a third of the cost was because the cord that bound the fourth and fifth slate on the right side was frayed. He'd kept them anyway, teasing her on how she should have been a decorator rather than working for Torchwood and made a point to quietly tuck a paperclip into the torn loops to keep them even when she wasn't looking.

Ianto hadn't realized the paperclip was gone until this morning. He couldn't recall where it had gone.

It was 0405 before he roused from his bed. As he showered, his mind was still sorting through where it might have gone. When he was packing? Was it lying forlorn in London, dusty on the floor of an empty flat? Perhaps it was lying in the cartons still stacked, only half emptied, the ink smudged stamps warning "Fragile" tattooed over boxes scarred with gaffer tape?

Warm water sluiced down his back, flowed down behind his legs and they felt like delicate fingers trailing the line of his spine with a familiarity that made him ache. Ianto blinked his eyes under the spray, cleared his throat when something wanted to come out. He tasted ash in the back of his throat, thought he heard a scream and rubbed his head vigorously with the threadbare blue flannel, drowning it out. Skin was scrubbed red, giving him a vaguely sunburned look as he dressed. Charcoal gray, white shirt, blue tie. 

Breakfast at 0413 consisted of toast. He did not brew coffee. Tea was easily brewed if the bag from dinner the previous night was saved. He needed to be economical with his time. The mail was grabbed, tossed into the unraveling wicker basket with the others to be sorted later and he was in his car by 0421. Not good. He was running late today. 

It wasn't until he stood there, debating on whether to get her the morning edition of the _Daily Mail_ or the _Elle_ spring issue, that Ianto remembered Lisa was dead.

By 0438, he was back in his car, his hands fisted over the steering wheel. Ianto supposed something should tear, should crack in his chest, but all he could do was stare at the car floor and note it was desperate for a good hoovering.

Ianto returned to his loft by 0540. He sat down on his couch and looked at the clock on the wall. 

The knock on his door at 0943 didn't surprise him. It didn't. It was just the way Torchwood worked. Nevertheless, his hand shook when he reached for the doorknob. This wasn't a surprise.

The person behind the door was.

"Morning." Gwen Cooper looked just like she had carrying a stack of pizza boxes into the information center weeks before. Holding her purse to her chest like it wasn't hers, Gwen stood by the door, looking like she was a step away from entering, a step away from leaving.

Ianto stared at her for a moment. "Ah." It was the only thing he could think to say. The something in the back of his throat had not gone away yet since 0438. He stood there, his fingers curled around the doorknob. "Good morning."

Eyes flitted up and down his attire and it was then that Ianto realized he was still wearing his suit. Gwen tried to smile, failed and settled to a sort of grimace instead that Ianto supposed was meant to be encouraging.

"Can I come in?" Gwen shifted from foot to foot. She peered around him, failing miserably at the pretense of not. "Is this a good time?"

"It might as well be," Ianto sighed. 

"Pardon?"

The edge of the cheap wooden knob dug into his palm. Ianto gave Gwen a faint smile because really it was poetic, in a sad sort of way, that Gwen would be the one to do it. Perhaps it was an initiation for Gwen Cooper? It made what was going to happen feel a bit less empty, that it would serve some sort of purpose to allow her to be the one. 

"Uh…Ianto?" Gwen leaned in closer, the toe of her trainers edging closer to his door.

His arm felt strange, as if forced into an action it wasn't accustomed to, as he pulled the door open wider. His first visitor it would seem would be his last. Gwen paused, gave him a smile far too wide (he could see the gap in her teeth) to be comforting, and stepped in with a delicate stride that hardly made a sound.

Gwen did the standard head turning of the curious as she surveyed his walkup for the first time.

"It's um…very nice," Gwen commented hesitantly as she stood in the entryway, looking discomfited. She folded the oversized handbag in her two handed grip. She peeked around, taking a moment to study the basket of mail on the tiny table by the door. Her eyes darted back to him, realizing that was rude of her and she was now absurdly fascinated with the faded London Eye magnet clinging on his fridge door. 

"Um…have you had breakfast?" Gwen stammered and she hung her handbag off her right shoulder. She then changed her mind and just let it dangle off her right elbow. "Have you eaten yet?"

Ianto's felt a stab of pity. She really wasn't good at this. Ianto evaluated and decided to offer her an easy way out.

"Would…" Ianto tracked Gwen as she hesitantly moved into his living room and stopped by the boxes along the wall. She ran a finger along the taped edge of one. Ianto knew she was reading the scrawled "Lisa's things" label on it. From here, he could see the corners of her mouth twitch.

"Would you like something to drink?" Ianto said a bit too quickly.

"No thank you," Gwen murmured, her hand pulling away from the box. 

Ianto blinked. He wasn't sure he heard correctly. No? Of _course_ Gwen should want a drink because isn't that how it should be done? A drink. An insincere apology or perhaps a vague comment about the weather or about him needing some rest, then he pretends not to see her drop a capsule into his glass, her face perfectly blank as he takes one long draught…

"The coffee is still fresh," Ianto said slowly. He even went as far as turning towards the row of mugs that hung in a neat row under his cabinets. "Or if you prefer, I do have—"

"How are you, Ianto?" Gwen asked, turning away from the boxes.

"Fine." 

There was a flash of something across Gwen's face. Ianto inwardly cringed when her mouth crinkled downwards.

"I—I have bottled water," Ianto blurted out. He wished Gwen would just get on with it. "If…if that's better."

Gwen knitted her brow and tilted her head at him. Ianto averted his gaze and yanked his fridge door open with enough force that the glass bottles of orange ginger marmalade (they were expired, he hoped someone would see to throw them out) rattled.

"There's milk," Ianto hurriedly said because the faster he talked, the less his voice tripped over the syllables, "I also have beer—

"Ianto," Gwen sighed. Ianto flinched. "I just came to see how you were doing. Jack asked about—well, I wanted to see you." Gwen bit her lower lip. "To see how things were…"

Ianto cleared his throat and stepped away from Gwen because it looked like she was going to hug him. Gwen tended to be emotional about things. Perhaps he was supposed to get everything in order first? It would be practical. After all there were Lisa's boxes and all the paperwork. It made a sort of sense and would be easier to arrange than if he was gone. 

"I see." Ianto closed the fridge but his hand remained on the handle, unable to pull away. "I'm fine."

"Are you? Really?" Gwen pressed. "I discussed this with Jack and I thought—"

"I'll be fine," Ianto said hastily because hearing Jack's name made something in his chest prick. Somehow, thinking about Jack made him feel worse about what he was going to have to do.

"If you want to talk…" Gwen began.

A copper's training, Ianto thought idly, was very comprehensive from chasing criminals to counseling. And he knew Gwen the least, so there was less chance for bias in her observations when she reported back. It made a sort of sense that she would be sent in to get the details and perhaps it was kinder than sending gentle-natured Tosh or even Owen, who was both biased and more likely to plant him a facer than listen. Yes, perhaps Gwen was the best logical choice. 

"Thank you," Ianto told her. "What would you like me to talk about?"

He waited politely for her to begin.

Gwen stared at him for a long moment before she heaved another sigh. "I don't want you to talk about anything." She nodded her head to the living room behind her. "How about those? Do you need help with those? With…uh… taking care of them?"

"No, thank you." Ianto's eyes cast beyond her shoulder to stare at the cartons. They had accumulated so many things, things he couldn't remember the original reason for buying them. Useless things. Trinkets, really, but the idea of someone else dipping his or her hands into those boxes of memories made his eyes burn. 

"If it's all right with you, I’d prefer to sort through those myself." Ianto wondered why Gwen continued to stare at him like that. If she was trying to determine his chances of running if she left him alone to sort the boxes and arrange his things, then why wasn't she pursuing the inquiries that were clearly forming in her eyes. 

"All right," Gwen said softly. She reached out a hand but something in Ianto's face made her stop. She took a step back. "I'll come by later. See how you are and…and we'll talk more then maybe…"

Ianto clenched his jaw and nodded jerkily.

"That's very kind of you." It occurred to Ianto he'd already said that. 

It felt like Ianto could breathe again when Gwen finally left. He held the doorknob with both hands. Eyes tightly shut, he rested his forehead on the door.

 

**Day Two – Five**

Gwen did not return. She never reappeared at his doorstep. As either a retcon assignment or a post mission inquiry session it left a lot of room for improvement. He took out a notebook, a battered one from his uni years. He removed the first few pages of half-hearted written notes on Assyrian history. Considering the lined page for a moment, he began to list in neat squared off handwriting the standard retcon approaches as per the Torchwood procedures manual. Then he noted the basic determinants of successful ingestion and the preferred worst case scenario for body disposal due to lethal allergic reaction. Then, as an afterthought, he wrote down the cafes where he bought her favorite cookies because he'd never told her. Done, Ianto tucked the notebook into the top drawer of his desk. No doubt, whenever Gwen returned and went through his things she would find it and have an opportunity to learn from it. She was a good copper but she hadn't been with Torchwood very long nor had the benefit of much training yet. He'd always rather thought if some of the others he'd known at Torchwood One had been trained better they might have lived longer.

Ianto then spent the rest of the week emptying boxes, preparing for who would be sent next. 

Stacks of women's clothing that smelled faintly medicinal from the mothballs scattered around him on the floor like a sort of Stonehenge. Initially he vaguely worried that he wouldn't get done in time, that Lisa's things would be left strewn about rather than properly taken care of, but when day five came about and no one had come, he found himself sitting again in his suit on the couch watching daylight creep across his walls and pass over the faint gray outline where a clock had once stood. It had fallen and smashed into bits, ending up in the trash bin. There was no point in getting another. He wouldn't be there to use it.

He woke up in the middle of that night, the boxes empty, with nothing left to sort. He'd been dreaming about her and shouting for Jack to stop. Feeling as if everything inside him was tearing in two, he fell to his hands and knees, and scrubbed the floors with soap until he was tearing and gasping from the exertion. He slept briefly on the couch until a lorry outside woke him and he went back to cleaning the floors then the walls, then the kitchen, and then the washroom. He could save the clean up crew that much work. He could set things at least that little bit of right. 

The wicker basket spilled the next day when Ianto picked up his mail as usual and dumped the bundle into the woven container. It tottered and simply fell over, spreading colorful adverts, catalogs and letters all over the entryway.

Ianto stared at it and realized he should have stopped his mail. He'd forgotten about it. Lisa had often laughed at what bizarre things had come in the mail at their place in London always making up grand stories of who must have lived there before them to get such things addressed to "Dear Occupant".

The catalogs were for boating and Australian vacations, hounds, and clothes, for jam of the month, and home organizing systems. The adverts offering him credit cards, life insurance and discounts were stacked on his coffee table. They were sorted from the largest at the bottom to the smallest card that proclaimed free shipping with every purchase of soap. There was a postcard from his bank congratulating him on his birthday and to please continue enjoying his banking experience. And there was a letter from an Amy Caringston. 

Ianto stared at the white envelope with its precise handwriting and noted it was postmarked from London three weeks ago. Amy Caringston was from Torchwood London, fourth floor. Human Resources. She and Lisa often went to lunch together because Amy was the only one Lisa knew at work who enjoyed Thai food in the shop inside Jubilee Place. Ianto wasn't particularly fond of Thai cuisine. Too much lemongrass. Amy had been spared because she hid in a utility closet on the second floor. She'd curled behind a wall of water bottles until UNIT found her two days later.

The letter itself was unremarkable. Amy, perhaps compelled in a fit of obligation to her deceased friend, wrote him once a month, telling him about working in Credit Suisse now which was ironically in the rebuilt Canary Wharf. She liked her job. She was engaged to someone working in the Commodities department and was thinking about getting a dog, a border collie or a Welsh corgi, perhaps. She asked about how he was doing, having heard he had moved to Cardiff as soon as UNIT finished interrogating all the survivors. She rather determinedly told him her nightmares were down to less than three a fortnight.

Then she noted that there were still plenty of them left this year. The suicides had nearly all stopped. They were survivors. She was grateful. 

Ianto must have sat on the couch too long. It was the only reason why his left foot cramped, convulsed and kicked out at the pile of catalogs on the floor, sending them flying across the living room. He stared at the mess until the light through his window waned. Then he got up, his limbs stiff, picked them all up and sorted them again. In alphabetical order, of course.

 

**Day Six**

There was a knock on his door on the sixth day. It came at 1015, almost a relief as Ianto found himself at a loss of what to do because he didn't have to check on her ventilator at 1100 any more and there was nothing now left to clean. 

Ianto set out two coffee mugs on his kitchen table by the first rap. He took a deep breath on the third knock and opened the door on the fourth. 

"Oi." Owen Harper stood there with his hands deep in his jacket pockets, his mouth set, and a large manila envelope tucked under his left arm. He glowered at Ianto. "Took you long enough, mate." 

This choice was much more sensible. Owen both disliked him and was a medical doctor. In fact, the medic most likely volunteered for the task. 

Owen snorted, his chin jutted out as he nodded towards Ianto. "Thought maybe you were dead in a tub of warm water."

It felt a little easier to smile at the familiar acerbic greeting. Owen didn't believe in pleasantries. "Yes," Ianto murmured, thinking of Amy's letter, "that would perhaps make things add up easier, wouldn't it?"

Owen's eyes narrowed. "Let me in, Teaboy. It's too bloody early to be standing out here without me coffee."

"Of course." Ianto stepped to the side, but for some reason, Owen stood there a beat longer, his dark eyes scanning Ianto up and down.

Ianto's smile twisted. "I haven't hidden anyone here. My flat is too small for that." 

Owen grumbled under his breath and walked in. He steered right for the coffee maker he spotted on the counter behind Ianto. Owen yanked out the carafe and took a whiff of its dark contents.

"It's fresh," Ianto told him even as Owen practically buried his nose into the glass container. "I make a new pot everyday." Just in case.

Owen groaned as he slapped down the envelope he was carrying, went over to the table and filled one of the mugs to the brim. Just one mug. Ianto watched the other one remain empty, ignored, even nudged aside to make room. Owen drank it down with the same zeal as he would a good lager. Done, he slammed the now empty mug down on the table with a loud clack.

"Finally," Owen grumbled. "Tosh may be a genius with the computers but she's rubbish at making coffee with that machine of yours. We have to buy it every morning from that shop by Parker."

Ianto winced and fought down a gag. "I could leave you all instructions on how to use it."

Owen squinted at him as he held the coffee pot to his chest. "Thought you didn't want us touching it?"

Brow furrowed, Ianto cast his eyes on the remaining mug on the table. "Yes, but that would be preferable to Parker don't you think?"

With another grunt, Owen poured himself another cup. Ianto waited to see if Owen would fill his mug. He didn't.

"Got some release forms I need you to sign," Owen said between noisy slurps. He gestured with an elbow towards the rectangular envelope on the table.

"Release forms?" Ianto gingerly picked up the envelope and carefully pulled out the thin pile of documents.

"For the body." 

Ianto nearly dropped the papers. "Body?"

Owen gave him a curt nod behind his coffee. 

"But…I-I thought she would be placed in our—Torchwood's morgue."

Owen scowled. "Thought so too. Was in a bit of snit about it all. Everything a mess. Removed the cyber bits but well… Jack finally said wherever was just as good as not for the human part. Yet he wouldn't let me put her in the vault. Said send her back to 'em…her family. Excepting everyone I ask about that from central's a bit touchy seeing as she was already declared dead and her records sealed. So here I am." He shrugged.

"There's…" Ianto stared at the forms in his hands. He leaned back against the counter. The top form stated it was an XF-789 document, a release of bodily remains from Torchwood custody. He didn't even know such an override form existed, let alone that it could be enacted. He noted Jack had personally signed it and not Owen. The forms blurred and Ianto found himself sitting down abruptly at the table.

Owen had pointedly turned away to set his dirty coffee mug in the sink.

Ianto swallowed and ran the tip of his tongue across his lower lip before he could find the words. "There's no one else. It was just us…me. It was just me. Her parents died ten years ago. L—She was an only child." 

They were both Torchwood. Neither of them had people who were waiting somewhere for them. 

Ianto lay the forms down on the table and regretfully, though it tore something loose inside him, slid the papers with Jack's permission to take Lisa with him back towards Owen. "I'm not aware of any place she had reserved for herself. She did not…" he swallowed, getting his voice more firmly in control, "have any final requests that she shared with me."

Owen exhaled and dropped into the chair opposite him. "Yeah, afraid it was somethin' like that. You Torchwood Londoners were always nothing but trouble from beginning to end. Never think about the future. Never think about what a mess you're gonna leave those of us to clear up. Captain's right, you all just do stuff and don't think about the other guy." Shaking his head, Owen reached over, pulled one of the forms from the pile and a pen from his leather jacket. He continued grumbling under his breath as he scribbled something. Done, he slapped his pen down over it and pushed the sheet over to him. Giving its custody back to him again.

Ianto stared at the address, unsure of what to say.

"It's a place in Newport by Bassaleg Road," Owen muttered although it sounded more like he was talking to himself. "Little park by the cemetery. A pond. Some ducks. It's quiet. Also a crematorium there if it's what you think she might have liked since she didn't tell you no preferences or anything. Either way it's off my hands. I ain't taking it back so you can stop thinking about shoving it over here."

The paper made an odd rustling noise in his hands. Ianto forced himself to set the document down on the table. He looked at Owen.

"That's it?" Ianto murmured as he left a palm protectively over the forms. Owen said they were his, Jack had sent them, he could barely comprehend it. "You came to just give me these?" Shouldn't he be arranging for his own forms?

"What else would I be here for?" Owen scoffed. "Get one of the girls if you want something else. I don't do crying, I don't lend out my shoulder to nobody, and I definitely don't do clean up of someone else's mess." Owen leaned back on two legs of the chair.

"I just thought…" He shook his head. He felt lightheaded, confused, as if he had walked into the middle of a movie. "Never mind. I'm sorry you had to go to all this trouble. I don't intend to cause any further problems. But…thank you…I…" He swallowed, to be able to fix this last little bit, to at least be allowed to resolve things this much. Normally Torchwood didn't let you. Done was done. There was no fixing things that were broken. And yet. Here Jack was allowing him to arrange Lisa's end before his own. That was…and after he had…His eyes vision blurred as he stared down at the papers.

The chair legs kept groaning _thump-thump_ as the back legs rocked up and down and then they slammed to a halt. "I'm going to take a piss," Owen announced as if he had come to a great decision. "Too much coffee." Owen stood abruptly from his chair, all four legs scrapping loudly across the floor. He didn't wait for Ianto to point out where the bathroom was or even to ask for permission.

Ianto remained in his seat, fists on his lap. Slowly his breathing evened out and his chest didn't hurt as much anymore. Ianto waited for Owen to come back, to pour him something to drink; he wondered if they would at least let him remember where she was buried. Then he decided it was selfish to wonder that and thought it was enough to know she was somewhere. 

Ianto never moved, his eyes on the form Owen had partially filled out waiting. He heard the sound of Owen's footsteps behind him. The man went to the cupboard. Got another mug down.

Ianto realized there were things he still wanted to know. Before it ended. Before he couldn't know anything anymore. He tried to bring them forward. To ask about...but found he couldn't let himself ask that question, it wasn't his right, and so asked another. "The…" Ianto swallowed painfully. "The other girl…"

"What about her?" Owen grunted as he poured the rest of the coffee into the second mug. He set the pot down in front of Ianto.

Ianto stared at the stained pot.

"Annie Bennett," Owen said all of the sudden. "Twenty. Was studying art or some shit like that. Police found her body by the A11. Hit and run." There was a harsh sound from Owen as he kicked the chair next to him before dropping into it, holding the second cup in front of him but not offering it yet to Ianto. 

Ianto rubbed a finger along the carafe's rim, it needed washing again. 

"When is the funeral?" Ianto asked. His voice didn't sound like it belonged to him.

"Yesterday," Owen said brusquely.

Ianto's head snapped up. Owen only shrugged staring at him hard. Ianto nodded to himself and he faced the coffee pot again.

"I'm sorry," Ianto murmured. He lifted up his gaze at Owen across the table.

"No, you're not," Owen said bluntly. 

"I am sorry," Ianto lowered his eyes, his head bobbing. There was no point denying the rest. "But I wanted to save her more."

"She would have killed us all." Owen never minced words. "That's what they do. If she got out, she would have made thousands more and it would have made what happened in London look like a tea party." He rose to his feet with a huff and dumped the second mug out into the sink. Slamming the cup down he said, "She killed that Bennett girl. She killed her as cold as you please. Does that sound like your girlfriend to you?" He twisted around and reached for the door in three easy strides. He yanked it open and then stopped. He hung there for a moment. 

Owen didn't look back as he said. "Sometimes a doc sees someone trying to save a patient in the middle of a triage. One that's gone already. Got no chance at all and you should just leave be and go on. But the medic keeps going at it. I see something like that and I wonder who he's really trying to save? No more messes, mate." Without another word, Owen slipped out the door. Surprisingly, he didn't slam it behind him.

Ianto studied the door for a moment. His back twinged when he finally levered off his seat. He cleaned Owen's mug and scrubbed the dark stains off the pot. He decided to leave both mugs on the table and took the forms to the bedroom. He read them over and over to see if their meaning would change until the text blurred into black dots. He filled them out, line for line before tucking the documents back into their envelope. Ianto retrieved the notebook and wrote out very precise instructions on how to use the coffee maker in the Hub. He included rudimentary step-by-step illustrations (Owen would probably be reading this after all). He reviewed the pages until he noticed it was getting too dark in his bedroom to read.

It wasn't until he went into the bathroom to splash water on his face that he discovered Owen had tossed out all his razors and emptied his medicine cabinet. He wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry.

 

**Day Seven**

Tosh showed up the next day but he wasn't there to open the door this time. Ianto was trudging up the steps to his flat, a magazine curled in his grip. Habit will propel you. Habit will guide your steps even when you are sunken in a haze of fatigue. Habit will have you calling out the name of someone who's not there when you think you hear him in your dreams. Habit will allow you to step over the broken part of the concrete step as you approach the door and see the slim figure standing there in her navy serge trenchcoat. He hadn't remembered when he'd woken in a fog at 0740 and thought he was late but habit had moved him all the way to the news stand, through purchasing a _Cosmopolitan,_ and halfway to the _Plass_ before he truly remembered. Cars bleated angrily behind him as he braked suddenly when in the middle lane of the A48, as he realized how habit was guiding him. 

"I should have called," Tosh said lamely, one fist still up in the air to knock when she had glanced over her shoulder.

Ianto grasped the rolled periodical with both hands to cover it. "I…I went out for a walk." 

Tosh's eyes flicked over his suit—this time it was a blue jacket with the silver shirt—and her smile wavered. She looked like she wanted to say something, perhaps remark on the hour or dress for a morning walk, but then Tosh was here early as well.

There were a few minutes of awkward conversation, apologies for the hour, an invitation in, even meaningless comments about the traffic as Ianto opened the door and let Tosh in. 

"I have the forms Owen left here," Ianto said as calm as he could. His stomach twisted at the thought of Tosh being sent to him. It had occurred to him to wonder if someone from London was being sent for and that had caused the delay. Owen's comment about not cleaning up any more Torchwood London messes had given him the idea. But now seeing Toshiko he was uncertain. And almost glad. He was so very tired from the waiting. Perhaps they thought it would be kinder this way? Ianto wasn't sure as he watched Toshiko hesitantly circle around the kitchen table, her fingers trailing the surface like piano keys, pausing briefly at the empty mugs waiting. 

Ianto pressed his mouth together. It was meant to be cruel, he decided. Maybe they were punishing her. Toshiko had always treated him well—actually, they all did to some extent, but to now be deleted by someone as kind and thoughtful as Toshiko. The idea that they’d hurt her this way, because of what he'd done. He felt ashamed. 

Toshiko offered him a small smile.

Ianto bit his lower lip. "Something to drink?"

"No, that's all right," Toshiko murmured.

Was there something else he was supposed to settle still? He knew the procedure, he'd even reminded Ja—their captain on previous clean up sessions. If they were not waiting to act with London, what could possibly be the delay? What else had he not done yet? What step had he missed? Why make Toshiko come like this? 

Ianto wanted to pound the table, an urge that felt both alarming and unfamiliar to him. He blinked and took a deep breath to compose himself. He pulled out the envelope and set it on the table. Toshiko made a distracted nod as she reviewed the forms.

"Newport?" Toshiko started and peered up at Ianto over the top edge of the forms. "Sorry. I wasn't…I mean, it's a bit far."

"It has a park," Ianto said, his throat working. "And a pond. Um…ducks."

Toshiko brightened. "It sounds like a nice place. I'm sure she…" She lowered her eyes. "It's a nice choice."

Ianto wanted to tell her Owen had chosen it, but he feared it would sound wrong. He didn't know what to say to make it right, and he was tired, so very tired, and he didn't want to be any more wrong than he already was, so he said nothing. Only waited. 

There was a tinge of pink across Toshiko's cheeks. "I uh…Jack asked me to come by for these and to…well, I wanted to see how you were…" Toshiko sighed. "I need to get some clothes."

Ianto stared. "Pardon?"

Brush stroke fine eyebrows slanted, lips pressed, Toshiko was suddenly fascinated with the top of the mug on the table. 

"For the funeral. I mean it will still have to be a closed casket because of the autopsy and…well…the removals but…" Toshiko delicately cleared her throat. "Jack told me you might…might have something for her to wear. For…you know."

"No," Ianto's mouth opened and closed. The boxes he'd gone through, but then he opted to nod jerkily instead. "Yes. I have something. Wait…wait a moment…"

Perhaps he should have clarified that Toshiko wait in the kitchen because no sooner did he step into the living room, then he could hear timid footsteps behind him, quieter than a shadow. Yet asking her to go back and wait felt like it would take too much energy so he merely squared back his shoulders and approached the one box remaining on the floor by his bookcase. 

Toshiko hung back as he opened it. Blinking rapidly back the burning sensation at the corners of his eyes, Ianto lifted the photo albums he hadn't been able to make himself destroy when he'd been still waiting for Gwen's return. Beneath them was crackling white tissue paper. The rustling sounded too sharp in his ears as he parted it.

"How is everything at…uh…work?" Ianto asked hoarsely not wanting to say their names, but wanting to know all the same.

"Good…good…" Toshiko's coat rustled against her. 

"The Weevils behaving?" Ianto murmured, as he lifted the soft linen bundle out.

"Owen keeps feeding them our old takeaways." Toshiko made a little snort. "Chinese food doesn't digest well for them."

Ianto's mouth quirked. "There is a list, on my—under the computer in the tourist center. I've noted what foods they prefer. Especially the pterodactyl." 

"Jack's just been feeding her chocolate."

"Dark, I hope," Ianto muttered. "She tends to be picky."

The hesitant giggle Toshiko made, as if she weren't sure it was appropriate or not, loosened a knot in his chest. It was just enough that Ianto allowed himself a small smile. 

"She's made her preference known quite early on. Nearly took Jack's head off when he tried to give her milk chocolate."

Ianto's shoulders tensed. 

"He…he's all right?" Ianto asked slowly.

"I thought for sure he was a goner, but Jack said it was just a scrape." Toshiko breathed out. "All that blood though."

Ianto's fingers faltered. "Blood?"

"Owen said scalp wounds tend to bleed a lot. Jack seemed fine a few hours later."

Lightheaded, Ianto gripped the edges of the carton.

"Ianto?"

Ianto ran the tip of his tongue across his lower lip. "She prefers the sixty percent cacao one from the shop on Rogers. But only once a week, just as a treat. A bit of raw pork or chicken once a day is fine otherwise." 

"That's good to know," Toshiko said, the sincerity in her voice made Ianto wince. "Thank you."

The bundle in his hands blurred, the lilac pink dress she wore on their third date, the one when they had left the theater (the movie was a bore) and they walked all of London until even the lights of the London Eye shut down. Then, the dress clinging to the top of her calves, her bare shoulders cloaked with his jacket, she tiptoed up and kissed him. She'd tasted like the cranberry cocktail they had in Havern's. He'd known in that moment someday he was going to marry her.

"Oh. Owen said…" Toshiko fidgeted behind him when he flipped out the dress to show her. "He said it should be something long sleeved, Ianto."

"Sorry. I don't have anything else to give."

Toshiko stared up at him and Ianto flinched at the watery glimmer in her eyes. "That's all right then. I'm sure this will do just fine. I…" She wouldn't meet his gaze as she carefully refolded the dress and made small bundle of it trying to not to wrinkle it. "There, it'll be fine. It will." She sniffed.

"You sure you wouldn't like something to drink?" Ianto stuttered.

"No, thank you." Shaking her head, Toshiko gave him a wan smile. Then staunchly she said, "I should go back to the Hub. My turn to get the coffee." Her smile made a watery attempt at wry. "Although, considering the quality of Parker's, everyone might not object to the wait."

The tight band around his chest loosened at the complaint. It felt almost normal, almost ordinary. "Do you still park by Harrowby?" He maneuvered around Toshiko, away from the last box waiting silently at his back and thankfully she followed. "At the corner, there's a sandwich shop. I usually…used to get coffee there when J—" The name stuck in his throat. "When everyone couldn't wait for the machine to work."

"Is it the same place you get the lemon rosemary scones?" Toshiko could be heard rummaging in her bag for a piece of paper. "Lord, I've always wondered where you get them! Gwen looked everywhere for them yesterday."

Ianto's mouth upturned. "Well, I guess the secret's out then." The moment the words were spoken, he cringed. Ianto choked out a laugh, but it sounded painful. It certainly felt it.

Toshiko's chuckle was just as garbled, half mangled. 

Ianto dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry." 

"You loved her very much," Toshiko said, almost to herself. 

Ianto, unsure how to respond, nodded numbly. 

"Things'll seem better soon." Toshiko hesitated by the door. Abruptly, she spun around and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

Ianto stood there, arms close to his sides, eyes past her ear and wondering why he couldn't think of what he should be doing right now.

"Thank you," Ianto murmured when Toshiko finally released him.

"Bye, Ianto. I…that is, we…" Toshiko gave up and just sighed. "Just…bye."

Ianto stood there, staring blankly at the door as it shut behind Toshiko. As soon as it clicked, Ianto exhaled slowly. It wasn't her. It made the inevitable more bearable. At least it wasn't Toshiko.

"Goodbye," he whispered to the door.

 

Ianto found himself staring at his ceiling, confused. He'd fallen asleep writing a list of where he'd hidden the biscuits and the chocolates at the Hub: behind the dishes, inside the boxes marked 'salt'. Everyone there had a sweet tooth, especially Owen. No Hob Nob was ever safe. 

There were so many things he'd left undone. 

A soft scuff of a shoe outside his bedroom told him what had really woken him.

Ianto pressed his toes into the thin carpet, his right hand blindly searching in the dark to grab anything. He had turned in his weapon as stated for all suspensions. His fingers curled around something long and stiff. Ianto immediately pulled it up to brace against his right shoulder. He staggered with fatigue and blinked when he could make out an old umbrella.

 _Brilliant_.

Something scraped in the living room. Ianto's eyes snapped forward towards the next room. He swallowed, set his jaw and crept towards the entryway into his living room. Just as his foot stepped fully into the space, light flooded the room and, startled, Ianto pulled back his weapon and swung forward.

And the umbrella bloomed open. Oh, bloody hell. 

"I think that's seven years' bad luck."

Ianto lowered his weapon—or weather accessory—and stared at Jack Harkness beyond the black nylon dome. He stood by the last box, dressed in his greatcoat, shoulders straight, back rigid, his face devoid of even the crooked smirk he favored.

In the back of his mind, Ianto knew it shouldn't be a surprise that Jack was ultimately the one to…sort everything out. After all, he was the one who brought Ianto in. It was only fitting Jack be the one to see him out.

A lump lodged in his throat anyway and wouldn't go away.

Jack considered the umbrella. "Expecting rain?"

"Mirror," Ianto blurted out. It shouldn't be a surprise but it still was a bit disconcerting. 

Jack frowned and he touched his face with his hand. "Something on me?"

"Seven years bad luck," Ianto said, but wishing he hadn't because God, he sounded foolish to his own ears. "Breaking a mirror is seven years of bad luck."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Jump on a crack, under a ladder, mirrors, umbrellas. You people have this strange fear of inanimate objects."

It was always things like that, those casual little odd throwaways that coaxed Ianto to come closer and sometimes warn him back. There were times he felt the need to do both.

Ianto tugged the umbrella closed and set it on the floor. "I thought you were a prowler," Ianto explained lamely.

Jack stared at him as if the thought never occurred to him and he eyed the umbrella, his lips pursed. "Somehow, I don't think that's an effective deterrent. Maybe a base—no, wait, you don't have baseball here—maybe a cricket bat."

Ianto gaped at Jack, his mouth slightly opened. "I…uh…c-cricket?" His eyes drifted to the box Jack was by, it was open, and he whispered, something heavy thudding in his chest. "Those are her things."

Jack's mouth twisted and the hardness in his eyes eased. "Yes, I know."

The words he'd flung at Jack still reverberated inside him, like a physical force pushing him down from the inside. Words shouted in desperation to stop everything from moving forward. From changing. 

There was a tingly feeling that fueled his legs as Ianto crossed over to the box. He folded and tucked corners until the flap stayed shut. 

"Tosh said there needed to be sleeves," Ianto rasped. "It's all changed. Everything changes. —Now, this is all I have left of her—"

Something dawned within Jack's gaze. He studied Ianto more intently, watching his hands as he reverently touched the last box. The line across Jack's shoulders relaxed. He nodded to himself.

"There's a shawl in here. She used to wear it?" Jack asked quietly. It wasn't fair. Ianto wanted to shout, but the hard edge to Jack's words was gone now making it impossible. 

Ianto nodded, it felt odd that Jack had seen her things. Seen the person she was. The last of her in the box. "A silk one. It was her favorite."

"Yes, I saw it. Why don't we use that?" There was a nudge, a small push against the small of his back steering him towards the couch. Ianto dropped onto the couch as soon as the back of his knees touched it. He sat there, feeling detached, the sound of Jack re-opening the box, moving and shuffling registering only as a sound he felt like he ought to react to.

Ianto focused after a few minutes and the containers sitting in a neat line of three at last registered.

"You bought Chinese food?" Ianto said slowly.

"Dinner," Jack clarified. 

"I was sleeping." Ianto pointed out.

"At 1840?" Ianto could imagine him waving a hand dismissively in the air behind him. "I brought General Tso's chicken, chow mein, broccoli beef." There was a pause. "Technically, it's not _real_ Chinese food, but I ordered it in Chinese."

Ianto studied the cartons with its red illustrations of ill-proportioned pagodas. "So…you brought dinner?"

The couch gave as Jack sat down next to him. Almost immediately, the captain began snapping apart cheap chopsticks, scrapping them together then plucking out pieces of chicken with them. Ianto spared Jack a glance as the captain popped one morsel in his mouth, fanning it with a hand soon after. 

Ianto felt a heaviness in his stomach as he took in the lilac dress and shawl now folded by Jack's side. Ianto lowered his eyes to the carton of chow mein that was pressed into his hands. He poked at the noodles with the chopsticks before tentatively taking a bite. He wondered how long it would take affect. He chewed slowly and swallowed with some difficulty. The warm food sat in his stomach and his back hurt from trying to keep his spine straight. He was all too aware of Jack next to him, like the air was heavy and charged before an approaching storm.

"Okay?" Jack murmured. 

"It's fine." Ianto muttered, his eyes on the food. The words 'thank you' and 'I'm sorry' were on the tip of his tongue but he couldn't bring himself to say them out loud.

 

The food and the presence at his side slowly warmed him, and when Ianto's head started bobbing forward, he panicked.

It was ridiculous, of course. It was SOP, had been even in London, but the sensation of his eyelids growing heavier bubbled forth a sort of snap, like a wire breaking around his heart before chills washed down his spine. It roused him briefly.

"Okay," Jack rumbled somewhere near the vicinity of his left ear, "I think we can skip dessert."

The flimsy chopsticks slipped out of his loose grasp. Ianto's eyes flew open but all he saw was a blur of blues and grays as his feet were lifted and settled across on the couch.

"I'll bring pizza next time," Jack commented as he confiscated the carton Ianto had. 

But there wasn't going to be a next time, was there?

Ianto blindly reached out, catching Jack's wrist. Jack stilled.

Weights seemed to pull Ianto deeper. 

"Will I," Ianto murmured even as his eyes fluttered shut. No. Not yet. He wasn't ready, after all.

"Will I still remember?" Ianto whispered hoarsely in what felt like a final fit of energy. "Will I forget her?"

Jack pulled his hand out of Ianto's grip. It was an unsettling sensation to feel Jack's hand slip out his grasp. He placed Ianto's hand folded across his belly. 

"Will you forget?" Jack echoed. He sounded puzzled. "Somehow, I very much doubt it, Ianto Jones." Jack lightly pushed away Ianto's flailing hand, slipping away like a shadow. "She was the only reason why you stayed here, after all." Jack's voice grew rough.

"What does that mean?" Ianto slurred but his question came out thick and incoherent. "Wait…" he protested feebly as he felt himself eased down, a pillow tucked under his head.

"Get some sleep, Ianto," Jack murmured. He sounded very far away. 

Ianto reached out once more but his arm simply dropped leaden to his sides. Then, it didn't matter anymore.

 

**Day Eight**

It was 0407. Ianto started. Every morning at 0400 on the dot, Ianto needed to get up, shower and make a hasty breakfast while he listened to the morning news, in case anything Torchwood-worthy happened. Ianto stumbled off of the couch. He gave the cushions a baffled look before he glowered at the clutter of crumpled paper napkins and dark-stained takeaway menu. He'd have to clean that up later. 

There was no hot water again. Mrs. Norris, his landlady, promised the boiler would be fixed by next week. So Ianto gritted his teeth and endured one of the coldest showers he'd ever experienced for exactly four minutes. The towel he scrubbed furiously over his body was more to warm him up this time.

Today it was the dark charcoal jacket, white shirt, navy tie because there was the weekly conference call meeting today. Ianto checked his watch. It was 0413 now. Damn. He clicked his tongue against his teeth as he hopped into his shoes, he'd tie them in the car. He yanked open his front door, stooped down to swipe his mail off the floor and tossed them on the table by the door. He needed to be at Westham's Market in ten minutes. Hopefully, there would be something more interesting this time. He didn't relish rereading the _Economist_ out loud to Lis—

Ianto stopped.

His breathing, which had quickened to a runner's pace during his haste, had stuttered as he stood by the door, his car keys in a fist. He slammed the door shut and leaned his back against it, facing the kitchen and the two mugs still waiting on the table. His eyes darted to the bin. Three cartons smelling of salt and grease and MSG lay cluttered within.

Oh.

It really had happened then.

Ianto racked his mind, tossing memories aside as soon as he recalled them. Canary Wharf. The pterodactyl. The warehouse. Gwen Cooper. Suzie Costello. Dr. Tanzaki. 

Lisa.

Jack.

A moan scratched out from the back of his throat. Ianto pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. Nevertheless, it escaped before he could push it back. He gasped and slid down to the floor and he couldn't find the strength to get up.

He thought for sure last night was it. He'd thought Jack had come to punish him. 

Why? Why was he still allowed to remember everything? 

He had betrayed them. Betrayed Jack. Lied. Broken the rules. She was dead and he had failed and he was supposed to go away now. They were supposed to come and rip him apart, not…feed him Chinese. That was the way it worked. You failed to do your job and the job got rid of you. Why wasn't he getting rid of Ianto? 

He didn't understand. 

Ianto panted on the floor, his eyes on the mugs, a strange whooshing shrieking in his ears.

They wouldn't send him away, and now he didn't know what to do. What came next?

And then his phone rang.

 

**Day Ten**

Two days later, Ianto sat in the minister's office with his hands wrapped around a chipped cup of tea. English Breakfast, Ianto thought as he glanced out the tiny round window that showed nothing at all save for a bleak beam of early morning light.

Ianto stared out the window, the tea cooling in his grasp, and tried to imagine what it must look like beyond the church that stood in front of the cemetery. It had been raining before and droplets had trickled down his collar and down his back as he had stood there and watched the groundskeeper cut into the dirt with his dented spade. 

Bitter without milk, the tea was even bitterer cool but Ianto kept sipping it half-heartedly as he kept his eyes on the porthole.

A throat cleared quietly behind him. Ianto painfully turned his head towards the minister by the door.

"It's done."

Ianto politely thanked the minister and left. 

 

**Day Eleven – Thirteen**

For four days after, Ianto wrote. He wrote down everything he'd been afraid he wouldn't have time to tell them.

Ianto noted the gun weights for all of them, marking down who preferred which gun, which alloy ammunition suited them the best. He drew a quick map to remind them where the emergency armories were because during drills Gwen always dove for the wrong one. He made notes of his filing procedures for rift materials, for hazardous materials, for materials of unknown and or questionable edible origins. The 'notify in case of emergency' procedures. The 'accidents in the hub' procedures. The island…he must make a list of the inhabitants and their preferences so whoever went with Jack to Flat Holm would know what to take for dear Sofie who liked Tim Tams and cigarettes smuggled in for her, or Robert who needed clean, pure, Ivory soap, or Martin who missed the old Bob Hope radiocasts which could be downloaded off the 'net, and all the others. The restocking procedures for the first aid boxes. Where to get Jack's coat repaired and re-tailored if necessary and those boots, those damnable, world war two surplus boots of his that had to be ordered special. 

The living room was larger than he remembered; the one box didn't take up as much space as all the others that had sat there since he'd moved from London. Slowly he filled one notebook and then another and another of all the things he knew they needed, just in case…because he didn't know what was going to happen next. 

 

**Day Fourteen**

Because he woke up yet again at 0400 at the end of his second week (this time he remembered just as he jumped into the shower), Ianto spent the day painting the bare walls of his living room. He bought dark blue paint from across the street and spent the day filling his walls with color. He zoned on the up down motion and only stopped when his arms began to ache. He rewashed the mugs on the table because they were starting to collect dust, threw out the old container of soup he found in the back of his fridge and fell asleep on the couch in a living room that still reeked of paint.

Ianto woke to find Jack Harkness poking a finger at a wall.

"It's still wet," Ianto said hoarsely. He sat up on the couch and ran a hand through his hair, stopping when he realized it didn't really matter what he looked like right now.

Jack gave him a look before he muttered a "Huh" and shook a blue tipped finger before turning around. "Very urban contemporary," Jack offered.

Ianto grunted. Again, saying "thank you" didn't feel right.

"It's 1747," Jack declared.

"I've been painting."

Jack nodded as if that made complete sense. "I brought pizza this time."

Ianto blinked. "Pizza?" He spied the two pizza boxes on the carpet. His stomach churned. "Dinner. Again?"

"I would have brought breakfast today." Jack shrugged. "Weevils at Bute Park."

"Ah." Ianto's mouth quirked. "It must be their favorite spot."

A snort agreed with him. Jack made his way around the couch and flipped open a flat box in offering.

Ianto stared at the pie and wondered if he would taste cheese or the faint traces of medicine. It shouldn't matter, Ianto thought as he reached over and helped himself to a slice. 

 

Two slices in and Ianto found himself still awake, listening to Jack chewing, smelling the paint drying in his living room.

"That last box is gone."

Ianto stopped. He gulped and checked Jack but the captain didn't appear upset, more curious as he met Ianto's gaze. Ianto averted his eyes and took another bite of pizza.

"I thought it best to put it into storage." Ianto gave Jack an uneasy look. "That's all right, isn't it?"

Jack's brows knitted. "Why wouldn't it be?" He brushed off his slacks and rose to his feet. 

Ianto tracked Jack as he circled the walls. He waited for Jack to ask for something to drink (the man was always obsessed with staying hydrated) but Jack said nothing as he circumnavigated the room.

Swallowing hard, Ianto stared at his hands. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry."

"Yes, I heard," Jack replied evenly back over his shoulder. 

Ianto winced. It would be better if Jack sounded angry and not so resigned. "I am sorry," he said falteringly. "I'm sorry for deceiving all of you." Ianto's chin dipped to his chest. "Especially you."

Jack didn't answer him, just dropped abruptly back down on the couch and reached for another slice of pizza. "You know the best pizza, Italian pizza, isn't even in Italy? The first time I went there and asked for it, there was this little Italian man and he gave me the dirtiest look and…"

It should be strange, Ianto mused, to be sitting here, saying nothing, doing nothing but listening to Jack. Jack talking nonsense about himself and his many pizza eating experiences and how he seduced a woman once with his pizza pie dough throwing skills and as strange as it was, it was also somehow …nice.

Reluctant to break in, Ianto shifted in his seat and took a breath. He could feel Jack tensing next to him, and he fell abruptly silent, waiting for Ianto.

"What are you going to do now?" because this was one person he could ask; probably the only one he could ask.

Jack exhaled slowly. He didn't answer him. He just reached over for a new slice. "Right now, I think I'm going to enjoy the hundreds of years it took to get me to this moment and this pizza."

 

**Day Fifteen**

Ianto dreamed of walking through Camden Market with her. Her hand loose in his grip, her head tilted back in a laugh. She pointed to everyone standing by the entrance, Jack grinning in that sure, broad smile, his hand gesturing, beckoning. She laughed and waved at him. Ianto tugged her towards them when he was stopped. She reached over to flick something off his tie and paused, her eyes catching something over his shoulder. Ianto twisted around to look. There was nothing. When he turned back, everyone was gone and the market was a smoking ruin.

He was alone again.

 

**Day Sixteen**

Westham's Market looked different at 1420. It was empty, the shopkeepers too tired by this late hour to be cheerful. They sat on their stools, looking listless and bored as Ianto wandered around the rows of shops. 

Ianto found himself buying brown ribbon-tied boxes of dark chocolate and a sack of brightly colored lemon scones. It was in a bakery behind the newsstand that he'd never noticed before. Somehow, getting anything else other than a periodical felt wrong. Ianto left immediately after. He left his purchases on the kitchen table where the mugs had once sat. Ianto took a shower and let the water trickle down his face until it felt like his skin was no longer sticky and grimy. When he came out, the boxes were gone, lemony crumbs sprinkled his table. Beside it sat one of his journals.

 

**Day Seventeen**

"I brought sushi."

"What?" That was the last thing he expected anyone to say at 1900, at a time when he should be checking on IV bags and monitors. Ianto closed his notebook and set it aside on the seat besides him. He stared blankly at Jack, who once again, showed up with yet more food and little conversation. Jack looked at him, as if expecting him to say or do something. 

Ianto rubbed his eyes and squinted over to where Jack was pointing at, towards the kitchen. "Oh. Sushi." 

Jack eyed his couch with a thoughtful expression, then the rest of the living room and shook his head. "Come on. We'll eat in the kitchen again. "

Ianto followed Jack into the other room. He only briefly wondered if today would be the day. Was Retcon even effective in raw fish? It had proven useless in blue jello, but not yellow. A fact that had utterly fascinated Jack.

 

**Day Eighteen**

It wasn't. 

Ianto woke up on his couch at 0845, still remembering everything.

He rubbed gritty eyes as he struggled to shrug away the dregs of sleep. He grimaced, his neck stiff from being bent too long in an unnatural position. He sat up and froze.

Jack Harkness, in a less than pristine greatcoat, slept on the other end of the couch.

Hands folded across his abdomen, head tilted back, Jack looked pale, pale enough that his lashes were black against his pallor. There was blood streaked on his throat, flecks of coppery brown drying on his shirt.

And his revolver (Ianto couldn't understand why Jack preferred the antique to their more efficient Glocks) lay between them, almost like a boundary line.

He had called Jack a monster. From the first day as he'd brewed the first cup of coffee and brought it to the wharf he had wanted him to be one.

And yet here Harkness was, the proverbial sleeping beast waiting for slaughter. Yet the face, openly vulnerable and exposed, was irreconcilably many things—hard, stubborn, sarcastic, even cold—but not a monster. 

Despite the fact that he could still bring to mind the feel of the muzzle against his own forehead, pressing with sharp and bruising accusation, it was the dawning hurt in Jack's eyes that had felt the worse than the cold composite of the barrel's end. 

The gun felt warm to his fingers and Ianto started. He hadn't realized he'd reached for it. He gingerly curled his fingers around the handle. It felt awkward in his hands when he lifted the gun.

And pointed it at Jack.

Ianto's arm shook. He should want Jack dead. He had killed her. He should want it, but Jack had never been a monster. He lowered the gun.

"Here," Jack murmured, out of nowhere. Ianto jumped when Jack opened his eyes. He didn't smile, not even with his eyes but there was a crinkle at the corner of his mouth as if he was thinking of a joke only he thought funny. He curled two fingers around the muzzle pointing it towards the bottom of his chin instead. "More effective from here. Leaves a prettier corpse."

Ianto's hand snatched back, dropping the gun, and he held his right with his left. He swallowed. For some reason, it felt like it would be easier if Jack had looked angry. But instead the captain merely sat up and held the gun by the barrel like the proverbial dirty laundry.

"I'm...I'm not a murderer," Ianto managed.

An eyebrow arched. "And yet you kept one in the basement."

Ianto didn't feel the boiling rage he thought he should have at the accusation. His shoulders slumped. "She wasn't a murderer either."

Jack set the gun down between them again. Ianto got the idea that he wouldn't have stopped him if he were to reach for it. Jack folded his arms across his chest. 

"She tried to convert Dr. Tanzaki then Gwen and when that didn't work she tried to upgrade the rest of us, gave me a very engaging hello before finally killing Annie Bennett."

Ianto flinched at Annie's name. He laced his fingers together, rested his elbows on his knees and closed his eyes. 

"That wasn't her. She would never…All those things…that wasn't her."

"Exactly. Couldn't have said it better myself," Jack remarked. He yawned and stretched his arms above him. "Thanks for the couch. Those Weevils are getting feistier than usual. I think I need to change colognes."

A smile flickered across his lips before he realized it. "I thought you didn't wear…" Ianto trailed off when Jack twisted around sharply at him. Ianto swallowed. "Sorry."

Jack stared at him for a long time. Ianto fidgeted, not quite sure what Harkness was looking for. 

"You really will wait, won't you, Ianto?"

"I don't understand what you mean." Ianto rubbed his palms on his sweatpants.

"You don't go out, you don't call anyone, you sit here…" Jack narrowed his eyes. "Waiting." He faced Ianto completely. 

Ianto's hand shook when he gestured towards himself. "It's standard operating procedure. I knew I was breaking the rules. I knew what would happen. You said to go…" Ianto stammered. 

"I said to go and wait." Blue eyes stared blankly at him. A glimmer of…something flashed across them. After a moment, they widened. A strange smile twisted his lips, "How could I have ever thought that you were a cold-blooded con man?" 

Ianto shook his head. "Perhaps it was the fact that I hid my true intentions, and lied to you, and then, oh, yes, kept a monster in the basement…" Ianto said bleakly. He sat up straighter. "I know what needs to happen. Torchwood directives clearly state—"

"Torchwood One was great at following directives and it _fell_ ," Jack said harshly. 

Ianto flinched. 

Jack's shoulders slumped. "Did we fail you that badly too? We're Torchwood Three. _We_ are, Ianto. You do know you're one of us, don't you?"

Ianto thought of the journals he'd written in so carefully. He spied the latest one, his pen still tucked in the page where he was writing out information about the cleaners he often used, which ones were secure, which ones didn't bat an eye at some of the questionable bloodstained laundry he often dropped off. Stupid, stupid, little things really, but at the same time, it felt crucial to write it all down. He shrugged. How could he be a member of Torchwood Three, not when they knew now he'd been lying to them all this time.

Jack sighed. He dropped down onto the couch beside him, their shoulders now touching. 

"Are you going to Retcon me?" Ianto quietly asked.

"I was angry enough to order it. Boy, did I break a few things that first day after everything. Gwen still hasn't forgiven me for smashing her favorite Ghost Hunters mug."

Jack shook his head. He didn't look at Ianto, but the pressure of the warm shoulder and thigh sitting next to him didn't move away either. "Yes, I was mad enough. And I could have ordered it. You're right, the regulations would more than justify it. I'm Jack Harkness. What I say goes. And I had said for you to go. You, that guy I let in. Into the Hub. Into our lives. Into…everything." 

Ianto breathed out sharply. 

He sighed again and stood up. "No, you're not going to be Retconned, Ianto."

The dark walls blurred to something swirling and stormy as Ianto blinked rapidly to clear his vision.

Jack dipped down and snagged the latest notebook, he held it for a moment hefting its weight in his hand, and then peered over at Ianto. "Because you know Gwen's favorite scones, and you order the powdered latex gloves one size too big because that's how Owen likes them. You make certain Tosh's bud vase is never empty, and that my shoes are made right. Because you have a secret box of chocolate digestives stashed in the four drawer filing cabinet under B just in case one of us has a bad day." 

He tossed the notebook back down and dug his hands deep into his pockets turning his back to Ianto, pacing the confines of the room. "But I don't know any of those things about you. I knew so little that I couldn't even guess what your bad day was, or even tell total strangers who came down from London to review this mess when that bad day started. I had to figure it out from the CCTV tapes. I had to learn about you and about what had been going on in my very own basement by watching it on a screen. And after twenty-four hours of breaking things, and yelling at folks who didn't deserve it, and telling them to get the hell out of my sight and take their needles and their inquiry back to London, I kind of finally figured out whose fault it really was that it took me so long to learn those things."

Jack stopped his pacing by the newly painted wall. Face averted, his next words were said low almost as if to himself. "Ianto Jones. Get's up at 0400 every day. Doesn't keep food worth a damn in his cupboard. Likes tea and toast for breakfast. Gets his magazines from Westham's Market along with a newspaper. Likes to make lists." He reached out and touched a finger to the wall. "Likes the color blue. Doesn't own a working TV, but strangely has plenty of movie DVDs. Hates lemongrass in Thai food." He was still talking to the wall, his words barely carrying across the room, almost a whisper now. "Met a girl named Lisa. Loved her. And has been having a bad day for a really long time."

Jack strode to the door, "Next time I'll remember to bring the chocolate digestives." He was gone before Ianto could think to say anything. 

 

**Day Nineteen**

Ianto stood at the foot of her grave and felt…he felt nothing. He stared at the tombstone, noted the dirt left across the beveled words and reached over to wipe it clean with the edge of his sleeve.

There should be…something. Except there wasn't. It didn't feel like she was here anymore, hadn't really for a very long time. 

Light rain continued weeping weakly from the sky, bouncing pitter-patter off his shoulders and plastering his hair onto his skull. He wished he had thought of flowers. Westham's had some lovely gardenias that she would have liked but he had found himself walking automatically to the periodical section and by then, it was too late to retrace his steps to visit the flower section instead. 

There were already blossoms set on the patch of newly planted glass, simple carnations tied with a silver ribbon. The minister must have left them there. How very kind of him. 

"I'm going to remember…everything, L-Lisa." He'd pulled out the albums finally last night. He'd been surprised how the girl in the pictures had been different from the one he'd last seen. Her eyes softer, the quirk of her mouth slightly deeper, and afterward laying in his bed, he'd dreamed of her voice and it wasn't the one he'd heard for so many months now. It was different somehow. She really was gone.

Something deep inside him snapped, sharp and deep. Ianto sucked in his breath at the sensation and he clamped his mouth shut but the air escaped into a hiccup. 

Something raw, barely audible to anyone even himself, clawed out. Ianto's knees buckled and he dropped to the edge of her grave.

"I'm sorry, I wanted you to get away too." Ianto croaked. The rain was blinding him, hot trails streaming down his face, yet the rest of him felt cold. "But there was nothing left." He knelt there shaking.

"Not nothing," a voice said above him, but Ianto was too exhausted to look up, even react when he felt hands grip his shoulders. He resisted briefly when he felt those hands pull him away, anything more and Ianto felt for certain he would shatter. 

"You're not alone anymore, Ianto Jones," a voice rumbled low and reassuring in his ear. "In our own way we're all survivors too. Let us show you. Come see." 

 

**Day Twenty-Four**

It was 0400 on the dot when Ianto got up, showered and made a hasty breakfast while he listened to the morning news. He checked his watch and grunted softly as the news announcer foretold traffic delays of at least twenty minutes due to an idiot crossing lanes a little too quickly, a little too suddenly. Not good. He would have to forego Westham's today.

Ianto arrived by 0500 despite the traffic. Parking took five minutes, giving him enough time to pick up muffins and scones for breakfast. 

At 0520 the pamphlets in the Tourist center needed to be sorted. Ten minutes. 

Afterwards, the vaults were patrolled, the bolts double-checked and Ianto made certain that there were no more lost or orphaned creature of the Rift wandering the leaking, rusty corridors again. 

There was a pause by a certain corridor that led to nowhere because it had been bricked up and mortared. Someone, though, had left a little vase cemented halfway up the new wall with a red rose in it. Ianto touched the petals with his fingertips and forced himself to walk away.

It was dark, but Ianto knew every nook and turn this place offered so it was no trouble at all to find the spare workstation without light, type in his password and start reviewing the morning reports around Cardiff.

The hush of footsteps to his left came both as a surprise and not. Ianto lifted his eyes up to Jack. He opened his mouth, to say something when Jack spoke up first.

"You shouldn't be here." There was only mild reproach in his voice, but his eyes seemed bright in the dark.

Ianto looked down at his folder and murmured, "Neither should you" before he returned to the workstation. Jack didn't comment, but he edged closer to Ianto to peer at the monitor. He felt a brief weight on the back of his shoulder. Jack's hand slipped off as soon as Ianto glanced over, but Ianto could still feel the lingering heat on him like an anchor.

"What have you got?" Jack murmured as he tucked his hands into his pockets.

What did he have? Ianto wasn't sure but he was willing to take the chance Jack gave him to find out. He pointed to the monitor and felt Jack lean in for a closer look.

"Funny sort of weather patterns," Ianto returned. He glanced over to Jack and waited.

Jack studied the screen, his jaw set before he tilted his head towards Ianto.

"Yep, looks funny to me too," Jack murmured, "looks like something we should check out." Jack straightened and headed toward the stairs. He paused to look back. "Well?"

Ianto frowned. "I don't understand."

Jack smiled but his eyes were watching Ianto intently with something bordering on anxiety. "The Torchwood Three team, Ianto, you're either in or you're out."

Ianto hesitated, but in his head he could hear a voice whispering. "Let us show you." 

"Ianto?" 

Ianto took a deep breath. Meeting Jack's gaze, he gave him a firm nod. "In, sir. If you'll have me." 

Jack studied him a moment and then gave a small nod of his own. "Alright then." His expression lightened until it matched the gleam in his eyes. "Call the others in for a meeting when they get here." Jack tugged his suspenders over his shoulders as he bounded for his office. He stood by the door, his hands clasped together in a plea. "Oh and Ianto? Coffee? Please?"

"Of course, sir," Ianto agreed and was rewarded by a startling broad grin from Jack that seemed to peel away a weight from his shoulders. He didn't smile back, it didn't feel right. Not yet. He only turned on the lights and got ready for everyone's arrival. 

After all, it was almost 0700.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Author's Acknowledgment:** Check with E, convince E to let me credit her too. Beat her with shoe if she refuses again.


End file.
